Now the day is dead, I cried, The sky stretched mute and mortified, The sun gone, the clouds biding, The first stars in dungeons hiding. Lantern venturing its short glow, I went to put the lodge doors to, And tiffling there heard hardly aware A harsh high harmony along the air -- Some steel-bit fox in the western wood, The mind's rote idly understood -- And yet that wild voice rose and grew Until I stood and strained for a view. Dogs in kennels began to bark, "There's queer things love this kind of dark"; And here it comes creeping yelp on yelp, Along the hedge to us for help; The wood-child with man's torture racked Dares seek him out, if he'll retract. No fox was this. Ho, look to the air! The greyness showed a wonder there; Piteous sobbing in an instant grown The round of one man-careless tone. A wave of wild geese there was flying, Antheming what just seemed pain's crying, All the swishing wings straight steering, East in a solemn progress bearing; Majesty with these was going, Music in that shrill clangour flowing. East went the god-disclosing flight. I shut my doors up for the night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO BE CLOSELY WRITTEN ON A SMALL PIECE OF PAPER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SONNET: TO DANTE by GUIDO CAVALCANTI THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET by SAMUEL WOODWORTH THE RAGGED WOOD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |